


Orange terracotta floors that wouldn’t click beneath the hooves she didn’t have.

by babsalone



Category: Pyre (Video Game)
Genre: Flash Fic, Gen, Post-Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:02:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27154912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babsalone/pseuds/babsalone
Summary: Jodariel knew she wouldn’t go up.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	Orange terracotta floors that wouldn’t click beneath the hooves she didn’t have.

Jodariel knew she wouldn’t go up. They could never send everyone up--there would be two left, no matter what. She had been in the Downside for so, so long. She was no fool; it only made sense for her to stay down. They all had their loads to bear, and Jodariel was strong enough to bear them all. The things a mother does for her children. And as the Nightwings went up, and the rites failed, and they dwindled and dwindled, Jodariel knew, she knew, she knew. Maybe she’d been foolish, a little. Maybe she’d dreamed of a warm bed and a window that sang with light. A little place all her own, with herbs growing on the windowsill and the smell of stew always pervading it. Orange terracotta floors that wouldn’t click beneath the hooves she didn’t have.

One is allowed to be selfish, sometimes.

The final night came, and the Reader had their deliverance, and something black and bitter rose up in Jodariel’s throat and threatened to spill out, but she kept it stinging within her mouth. What mother would wish only for herself? As the few left celebrated, she left, because there was nothing left to celebrate. There had never been anything to celebrate. Instead, she spent her days descending into beasthood, her body breaking and warping more with every passing day, until she was nothing more than a horned monstrosity. Her bones broke and reformed and every night and she cried out to Scribes that she knew were gone. Her teeth grew long and her horns grew heavy until she could not raise her head. But she was beyond that, now. She transformed until the bitter blackness was no more, because there was no thought left. Nothing there but hunt, hunt, feed. She wandered the Downside, leaving havoc in her steps, what once bloomed flowers but now only burned fire, until some soul unlucky enough to live gave her salvation with a crossbolt between the eyes.


End file.
